Le Désir Rouge
by KatyNewt
Summary: One-shot set in Le Désir Rouge, a popular and lavish vampire gentlemen's club in 1950's London.


**Disclaimer: Being Human and all of its wonderful characters belong to the BBC and the genius that is Toby Whithouse.**

This really only started life as an idea for a character, Colette, and then expanded to include the club itself, Le Désir Rouge - The Red Desire. It took a while to edit this before I felt happy with it, because it is a little out of my comfort zone given the fairly risque content throughout. It is in effect a character study of Hal, told from the perspective of Colette, a former prostitute turned madam and owner of Le Désir Rouge.

Characters: Hal, OC (Colette). Also features Cutler, Fergus, Dennis and Louis.

Warning: Rated M due to adult content including prostitution, sex and a little bad language.

**Le Désir Rouge**

_London, 1952_

Colette clasped her hands behind her back and surveyed her kingdom proudly from her usual spot next to the bar. She had worked hard to build Le Désir Rouge up to what it was today, and she was immensely proud of what she had achieved. After all, she had come from nothing, a whore's bâtarde born on the filthy streets of early nineteenth century Paris. She had fallen into the trade surprisingly late, reaching fourteen before her mother's death at the hands of a dissatisfied customer drove her onto the streets herself. Those had been dark days, but things were different now. And she was a different person. Close to death from consumption, she had been rescued, recruited by a brothel madam on the lookout for new talent. With her golden curls, striking green eyes and youthful complexion, the woman had thought her a beauty and had seen her potential. And so, Colette had left her wretched, destitute human life behind her and became the vampire she felt she was born to be.

Le Désir Rouge had been her dream for a long time, finally achieved ten years earlier. It was lavish, sumptuous, a place solely for her kind to forget the constraints of life in drab post-war London. She had fled Paris in 1915 during the Great War, and London was her home now. Even as a vampire she had kept whoring, paying off her debt to her maker, and she had been well paid and well looked after. Now, she pulled the strings. She was the madam. The club was her little empire and she was the queen.

The decor was a rich mixture of her two favourite themes, twentieth century glamour and nineteenth century gothic. The lighting was comfortingly gloomy, the layout intimate without feeling claustrophobic, the furnishings crimson, a constant reminder of their desire for blood. A stage and a small dance floor allowed performances from dancers and singers. Tables were set all the way back to the far wall and always heaving with customers, her clientele almost exclusively male. After all, entertaining men had been her speciality for over a hundred years. Provocatively dressed waitresses served drinks, only alcohol out here, just incase the police paid a visit, but in the velvet curtained booths set in alcoves that lined the walls, blood was poured liberally from crystal decanters. It wasn't the only luxury. Her girls provided services here from lap dances to sex and everything in between. She even had human girls who would willingly allow themselves to be fed from, for a price. Not many of course, and they usually met grizzly ends, but her customers certainly enjoyed the experience, and that was what mattered.

Her attention turned towards the main entrance as she caught a sudden flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. The club fell quiet, the hum of dozens of conversations dying down momentarily in recognition of who had just walked in. She smiled. By the time she reached the wide aisle between the tables, the noise had risen again to a pleasant hum. The audience cheered and whistled as three women clad in little more than silk and sheer lace bodices sashayed onto the stage to begin their provocative dance act. Colette strode smoothly through the crowded tables and atmospheric clouds of cigarette smoke towards the newly arrived group. Her favourite patron, followed closely by his entourage.

"Good evening mon seigneur. I trust you are well?" she greeted him, smiling warmly.

"Well enough." Hal replied charmingly, taking her hand and kissing it. "Entertain yourselves while I speak with Madam Molyneux in private." He commanded without taking his eyes from her. She inclined her head towards them in welcome before leading Hal towards her office to the side of the stage.

She knew them all well, and they visited often, both with and without their master. Fergus would head straight for his usual booth with his usual girl, Harriet, a vivacious red head with a heaving bosom. Dennis and Louis would head for a table as close to the stage as they could get, leering up at the dancers with perverse glee. And Cutler. Sweet Cutler. To begin with he had been shy, happy to sit and nurse a drink at the bar, shying away from any female attention that came his way. It had taken longer than she had expected for him to find his feet, but he too had found a favourite booth, and a favourite girl, Georgiana. Blonde, pretty, kind Georgina, recruited only four years previous. The others said she reminded him of his late wife. While they had howled with laughter, Hal had been less than amused.

He had forbidden him from seeing her and had even stopped him from coming to the club at all for a while. Colette was usually fiercely protective of her girls, but on this occasion, she had willingly sent poor Georgiana to her death. Hal had insisted it was necessary, and when Lord Harry gave an order, you did not refuse him. When Cutler had been allowed to return, he had been completely different, insatiable, moving from girl to girl on every visit, seeming to want to sample them all. So much had changed with the boy. He had grown up. Daddy had made sure of that. Fergus said Hal had beaten the boyhood out of poor Cutler. Colette didn't doubt that he was being literal. Hal certainly had a well documented talent for violence and a famously short temper.

Stepping inside the office, he hung his jacket and hat up on the coat stand by the door, while she made her way to her drinks cabinet.

"Would you like a drink mon seigneur?" she stopped pouring from the blood-filled decanter she had picked up as she felt him behind her, his hands moving to grip her hips firmly, pulling her tight against him. He bent to kiss her neck, his intentions clear. She smiled and put the decanter down, turning to face him. "Or we could just skip the pleasantries." He pushed her up against the ornate cabinet roughly, kissing her almost savagely, and she could tell that this was going to be one of those encounters where he didn't hold back. It should have scared her, knowing as she did what he was capable of, but in all the years she had known him, he had never really hurt her. Not in a way she didn't like anyway. He was certainly not a gentle lover by any means, but that didn't faze her. She wasn't exactly virginal herself. She liked it best when he was like this.

She jumped as a bottle of whiskey fell from one of the shelves next to them, smashing on the floorboards. Hal didn't stop his onslaught, he didn't even seem surprised, but he grunted and grabbed her buttocks, steering her away from the cabinet and towards her desk before any more bottles fell. _Good old Hal _she thought to herself, chuckling huskily, _never one to waste a good vintage. _He lifted her just enough to seat her on the edge of the desk, nudging her legs apart and pressing himself against her. His hands moved earnestly to pull her skirt up her legs, raking his fingers up her thighs. She worked her own hands to undo his tie, not his usual red today, she noted, but dark green. She wondered absentmindedly whether that was significant. She shuffled as his attention turned to her underwear, assisting him in pulling her briefs down her legs, moving her own hands to shove his braces from his shoulders and down to unfasten his trousers, her well practiced hands not taking long to release him. His thrusts were fast, hard and relentless, and his fingers dug sharply into her hips, holding her as close to him as possible.

He wasn't just her favourite because of his status, his good looks or the considerable amount money he and his associates brought into the club, but simply and selfishly, because he was an immensely talented lover. He was her guilty pleasure. In fairness to most of the men she had slept with in the past, he had had plenty of time to perfect his technique. They had a fairly straightforward, if largely unspoken, understanding. Colette had turned her back on whoring herself decades ago, turning her attention instead to taking charge of others, being a madam, looking after her girls and her clients. And she was good at it. The club had been an immediate success, drawing in vampires from all over the city and having relatively few run-ins with the law. Considering Scotland Yard was crawling with her kind thanks to Hal, it wasn't surprising. She may not prostitute herself any more, but she had jumped at the chance to entertain Hal when he had first shown an interest. She was well aware that she wasn't the only lover he lavished his attentions on, not by a long shot, but she was his first and only port of call when he visited Le Désir Rouge, and that was more than enough for her. Relationships were so undignified after all. He never paid her, and she had never asked him to. Given that she enjoyed their encounters just as much as he appeared to, it seemed a fair deal.

He released his grip on one of her hips to bring a hand down between her legs, teasing her. She was under no illusion that he was doing it to be considerate. Hal was all about control. He revelled in the power he had over people, taking any opportunity he could to flaunt it. He had earned his infamy using pain as a weapon, not in any way opposed to torture from what she had heard, but in situations like this, pleasure was not exempt as a tool. He enjoyed keeping her hanging on to the edge for as long as he dictated, but tonight he was clearly in a rush. She cried out, shuddering and gripping the desk tightly. He followed her almost immediately with a quiet groan, grasping the edge of the desk to hold himself up while he caught his breath.

He pulled away, fastening his trousers and shrugging on his braces, while Colette perched on the desk, putting her own clothing back in place. He wandered over to the drinks cabinet, picked up the two glasses of blood she had poured earlier and returning to sit beside her. They made a silent toast, clinking glasses before draining them.

"You are in a hurry tonight mon seigneur?" She asked, her accent exaggerated by her breathlessness.

"I have a flight to catch. I've been summoned by Monsieur Snow."

"Ah." She nodded understandingly.

"Précisément. It'll be all business and politics of course, so I couldn't go without relieving some stress." He smirked at her, the closest he ever got to genuine affection.

"And you came to me, I'm touched." She smirked back, the closest she ever got to teasing him about it. "This is why you are wearing a different tie, non?"

"Oui. One of Monsieur Snow's little exigencies, I've no idea why. As if going in the first place wasn't bad enough, he seems to think he can tell me how to dress too. I don't know why I'm surprised, it's not like it's new."

"At least it is only your tie. You should see some of the things I have been made to wear over the years." She winked, relieving some of the tension from the situation. He raised an eyebrow, the thought obviously appealing to him.

"Have you any whispers for me? Anything I should know about before I leave?" he asked, rising to help himself to another glass of blood. Colette had known men all her life and she liked to think she knew them well. How to pleasure them, to speak to them, their motivation and reasoning. If there was one thing she had learnt quickly, it was that they were ruled by their cocks. Hal was the exception to the rule. Not that he didn't indulge himself, he was only a man after all, but he always, always had an agenda. It was another facet of their arrangement. She listened for signs of discontent, plots against him, information on his enemies. Her girls knew where her loyalties lie, and when it came down to it, whores made excellent spies. It never ceased to amaze her, the things men would willingly reveal in the arms of a capable lover.

"Non, nothing of note. I will listen closely while you are away. How long will that be, s'il vous plaît mon seigneur?"

"A week at most, if I can help it. I don't relish the company." He grumbled, tilting his head back to finish the last few drops in his glass.

"Are you travelling alone?" He chuckled coldly as he put the glass down, hearing the true meaning in her question, as she had known he would.

"I wouldn't take that bunch of fuckwits with me if my life depended on it. They have their uses here, but Monsieur Snow wouldn't suffer their idiocy for long. So in answer to your question, don't worry, you'll still have them here spending my money. You know what they're like. They'll be here every night while I'm away. Keep an eye on them, and don't let them get into any trouble."

"I will do my best, you have my word mon seigneur."

"Then I must be going. My flight leaves in an hour." He grimaced as he bent to retrieve his tie from the floor where she had let it fall, deftly securing it without her help. She collected his jacket from the coat stand and helped him into it, smoothing it over his shoulders neatly to remove any creases. She knew he hated looking dishevelled, no matter what they had been up to. He returned the favour by tidying a few stray strands of her hair, bending to kiss her again. She smiled as one of his hands crept up her back, pulling her closer to him, deepening the kiss which she was sure he had intended to be casual. He sighed as he pulled back. Yes, he was still just a man, no matter how in-control he thought he was.

Positioning his hat on top of his head, he opened the door and strode out into the noise and bustle of the club. She followed behind, neither of them showing any signs of what had occurred in the office. Louis and Dennis dragged themselves to their feet as soon as they saw the door open, pulling on their jackets glumly. Hal threw back the crimson curtains concealing the entrances to the two nearest booths, Fergus and Cutler's usual haunts. Fergus grunted his disapproval at being interrupted and all but threw Harriet from his lap, clearly unhappy that his dance had been cut short, but he rose and made his way out of the booth nonetheless. He wouldn't dare confront Hal about his displeasure. From what she had heard, he had known Hal longer than the others, and it was clear that he had learnt the hard way to comply quickly when the boss wanted something.

Cutler was a different story, still young and full of the arrogance that vampiric youth afforded. He didn't notice Hal for a moment, too caught up in drinking from the human girl he had chosen for company to see his maker standing in the doorway. Hal cleared his throat impatiently, and Cutler nearly jumped out of his skin, springing to his feet and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the almost unconscious girl sliding unceremoniously to the floor of the booth.

"But, Hal..." he started, a slight narrowing of the Old One's eyebrows enough to kill the protest forming on his lips. He followed meekly after him, trying to ignore Fergus' amused grin.

"Until next time mon seigneur. I hope your trip is a success, and that we will see you at Le Désir Rouge again bientôt. Bonsoir." Colette smiled warmly at him as they reached the door.

"Bonsoir Madam Molyneux, it's been a pleasure as usual." He smiled back, taking her hand and kissing it again. If it wasn't for the constant air of danger that surrounded him, she might have forgotten that his charisma was all an act. No one knew the real Hal Yorke, not even Fergus, though considering how sadistic she knew he could be she was thankful that she was one of very few people who consistently saw his charming side, no matter whether it was a lie or not.

If only her maker could see her now. Le Désir Rouge was thriving, the place to be in fashionable vampire society, and she had the honour of personally entertaining the most infamous, powerful and highly desired vampire in London, an Old One no less. She had heard whispers that he too had been born a whore's bastard. It was funny where life's twists and turns could take you, from abject poverty to extravagant luxury in just a few steps. She and Hal were proof that no matter where you came from, with the right luck, you could go right to the top. Some felt that being a vampire was a curse. Colette couldn't disagree more.


End file.
